


This Could Be Us

by ascience



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, FC Bayern München, Fluff, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario gets hit during a match but he comes out totally fine, he even remembers the fact that Marco is his boyfriend.<br/>The only problem is, Marco isn't.</p><p>Or:<br/>Marco runs his fingers through his hair.<br/>“I mean, Mario apparently was hit so hard he was sent into a parallel universe where we’re dating which would be nice except for the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing and I just feel like a creep.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Marco gets the call when he‘s cooking spaghetti. His hand is still wet from the tomato juices so he has a hard time reaching for his pocketed phone without ruining his shirt.  
He looks at the screen but doesn’t recognize the flashing number so he only hesitantly takes the call.

“Marco Reus?”

A formal voice on the other end of the line answers.  
“Mr Götze has been checked into our hospital. We’re obligated to inform all people listed as emergency contacts as we’re handling a somewhat considerable injury here. He’s in a stable condition but still unconscious.”

For a moment, it’s like the world runs in slow-motion – then everything comes crashing down on Marco again and he drops the phone on the kitchen floor.

His hands are almost shaking when he tries to pick it up again but it’s slippery and it takes a couple of seconds before he can breathe “What?” as a reply. Because, no, this shouldn’t be happening right now.

“Mr Götze has been check-“ the voice starts again, horribly calm and slow like a news presenter, but Marco interrupts.

“Yes! I heard!”, he shouts and somehow, despite the cold sweat running down his back, he manages to ask for an address that he writes down in an illegible scrawl.

There’s one thought running through his mind when he hurries to get to his car and punches the address into the GPS and it’s _I hope Mario’s okay I hope he’s okay I hope he’s okay._

Marco clenches the steering wheel and only when the tomato juice starts running down his arms into his shirt sleeves, he remembers the spaghetti that must still be simmering away on its own.

There’s no time to turn around so he grabs his phone and presses speed-dial.

“Hey, Mats, can you – I think I forgot – shit, my stove is still on, can you go turn it off? I don’t want my house to burn down.” Marco says with a shaky voice.

Mats needs a couple of seconds before he answers, “Uh,yeah, sure – are you okay, Marco? Wait, are you in the car?”

It’s scary that Marco has to take a look around himself to make sure that he, indeed, is in a car.

“Yes, I – look, I can’t really talk right now, they called me, Mario’s in the hospital, it has to be on the news already, I’m driving there right now and – and – shit, I’m so _scared_!”

Marco can hear Mats suck in his breath, then footsteps followed by the tinny background noise of a tv.

“It’s on the news,” Mats confirms, “they only have some blurry shots but they say Mario’s okay, only out of it.”

“I don’t think being unconscious for the time it takes journalists to turn an accident into a shitty news story qualifies as being strictly ‘okay’ in medical terms.” Marco laughs dryly.

Mats clears his throat and Marco can hear him swallow over the phone.

“Okay, I’m on my way to your house. Call me back when you have news about Mario.”

Marco says goodbye and ends the call, his heart still pounding.  
It feels like he’s already been driving for hours already, like the roads are longer than they used to be, like all the other drivers are faster.

But at some point Marco arrives at the hospital and rushes into the building. Of course there are reporters trying to shove microphones into his face because decency is an alien concept to journalists but Marco shoves right back and pushes through the crowd.

A nurse recognizes him and leads him through a side corridor and when they turn around the corner, Marco is greeted by the unsettled faces of a flock of Bayern players. The guys are wearing grass-stained jerseys and Marco hazily remembers that they had a match today.

“Where is he?” Marco asks, louder than intended, and everybody gestures towards the door behind them like they’re doing synchronized swimming and not football. They are eyeing him like he’s a suspect in a murder investigation.

Robert slowly steps forward and puts his hand on Marco’s back. His voice sounds weirdly cautious when he says, “Mario is. Fine. He, uh, woke up.”

A wave of relief washes over him and Marco almost answers something but he’s still too strung-up to deal with this shit. He pushes someone who might be Basti out of the way and bursts into the hospital room.

Mario is sitting up on a bed, looking healthy if a little pale except for the bruise on one cheek. He’s watching something on the tv and when Marco follows his gaze, he can see the replay of Mario’s injury from the match on the news – another player jumps, crashes into him elbow first and Mario goes down like timber.

“Marco!” Mario calls when he sees him and his face instantly lights up. He reaches out for Marco’s hand and pulls him closer which is vaguely strange already but then he doesn’t take his hand away again so Mario and Marco end up holding hands over the hospital bed which is _greatly_ strange.

“I got hit during our match and I must have fainted right there but I can’t remember a thing about it. But the doctor said I’m fine now – and I’m feeling fine. Apparently they had to call all my emergency contacts so I’m sorry if you were too worried.” Mario says and his thumb is starting to soothingly stroke the back of Marco’s hand. It sends a shiver down Marco’s spine and he has to chastise himself not to think the wrong things.

“You’ve set me as your emergency contact?” Marco asks because that’s something he can concentrate on right now.

Mario shrugs and nods. “Sure. I mean you’re my boyfriend so...”  
He doesn’t finish the sentence but he doesn’t have to because Marco has already fallen over and nearly hit his head on the bed rail.

“Oh, you okay, babe?” Mario asks with genuine worry because apparently he’s dead-set on pulling this joke off.

Marco looks around to figure out where the hidden cameras are and at what point Thomas is going to jump out of a cupboard but nothing happens.

“Are you okay?” Mario asks again but more amused this time and definitely _more_ with his hand rubbing Marco’s sweaty neck. That’s not _brotherly_ anymore.

“Uh, yeah, totally, I’m fine, I’m the finest, I’m okay, I just have to go... do something.” Marco flees out of the room and leans against the closed door in the corridor, thoughts racing through his head.  
Robert and Philipp and an elderly doctor turn to look at him, the others aren’t there anymore.

“Boyfriend?” Marco asks in an accusatory voice and it’s like the magic word that makes them look at the floor awkwardly, “Is this some joke? You let me drive here to see my dumb face when Mario calls me his boyfriend? I get it, it’s super funny since we’re so close. I’m laughing.” Marco isn’t.

Philipp sighs. “I don’t think it’s a joke,” he says slowly and shares a look with the doctor, “he’s been calling for you – his boyfriend ever since he woke up.” There’s a pause before he continues. “I mean, you’re not – ?”

Philipp vaguely gestures and Marco deciphers it to mean ‘ _actually together_ ’. Ha, he wishes.  
Marco’s frown must have been answer enough because Philipp nods. “Sorry, I had to ask.”

The doctor clears her throat. “Mr Reus, I know this might be hard for you to handle. What we’re looking at is that Mr Götze suffered a substantial blow to his head. It’s not uncommon for patients to have trouble remembering things or mixing up reality. It will get better by itself eventually and there’s not much we can do right now except – try not to disturb him.”

Judging from the way Philipp is kneading his hands, Marco can already see his way to hell getting a clean new pavement.

“By ‘not disturbing’, I mean, in layman’s terms, playing along. Act as his boyfriend. For now. I can’t see this lasting longer than three days, maybe it’ll just take a good night’s sleep.”

Marco’s head is spinning and he vaguely considers asking the doctor for her medical license to make these kinds of claims.

“I can’t-“ Marco starts but doesn’t continue because he’s afraid of just how much he _can._

Robert softly claps him on the back. “It’s just for a short time." he offers and tries to give a sympathetic smile. He fails and just looks like he always does, somewhat evil.

Everybody just seems to accept that Marco is going to have to take one for the team here although he never actually agreed to this – and it all goes way too fast after that.

Marco has to sign some consent paper, they push a bag with medicine for Mario into his hands and ten minutes later, the two of them are sitting in Marco’s car, holding hands again.

“I love you, babe.” Mario says and it should be a symphony in Marco’s ears but all it does, is leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Mario doesn’t even know what he’s talking about.

“I know.” Marco answers like the asshole he is and has a hard time not cringing.

“’ _I know’?_ What is this, Star Wars? I get hit and I don’t get an ‘I love you’? Come on, we haven’t seen each other face to face for two weeks.”

Mario laughs and Marco forces a smile, too, because joking around makes this much easier.

“This isn’t the declaration of love you’re looking for.” Marco answers and is grateful when Mario playfully punches him in the shoulder because seemingly the romantic relationship Mario plucked out of the air for them is not that far from their actual relationship.

This insight should probably make Marco wonder but he hasn’t earned the black belt in denial for nothing so he carefully pushes Mario’s hand away that had crept up on his thigh.

“I’ve got to call Mats before we can leave. I promised to tell him as soon as I know you’re okay.”  
Even though you’re not, Marco adds in his mind and gets out of the car to be able to talk without Mario listening in.

Mats answers after the first ring but Marco doesn’t care to give him the chance to say hello.

“Mario is fine except for the fact that I’m now his boyfriend.” Marco says and on the other end of the line, Mats chokes.  
It sounds like something drops to the floor and Mats yells ‘damn’ before incredulously adding ‘Congrats?’ at Marco.

Marco sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I mean, Mario apparently was hit so hard he was sent into a parallel universe where we’re dating which would be nice except for the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing and I just feel like a creep.”

Mats starts replying but Marco isn’t done yet.  
“No, you don’t understand – he thinks we’re _dating_ and I’m not allowed to tell him we’re not because the ‘emotional distress’ would be too much to handle right now or whatever!” and Marco recounts everything that happened in the hospital.

For a second there’s silence, then Mats laughs for a minute straight. Marco times it.

“Holy shit, Marco, I don’t even know what to- Okay, I mean, focus on the good things about this.”

“What could ever be good about this?” Marco asks and kicks the back wheel of the car. Surprisingly, nothing happens except for the fact that his foot kind of hurts now.

“You got yourself a boyfriend. I didn’t think that was ever going to happen. With your crush on Mario that can be seen from outer freaking space and everything.” Marco can almost hear Mats’ smug smirk over the phone.

“Ha _ha._ I’m fucked.”

“Hang on, I thought you two were going to take it slow.”

Marco kicks the wheel again but Thomas still doesn’t jump out to tell him he’s been punked.  
“You know what I mean. Fuck you.”

“I thought _we_ were going to take it slow, pumpkin.”

“Okay, go fuck yourself then. Or go fuck Kevin for all I care.”

Mats mockingly sucks in air like he’s majorly offended. “Wow, that’s _harsh_.”

Marco sticks out his tongue even though Mats can’t see him and ends the call. He takes a deep breath and returns to Mario who is still sitting in the passenger seat with an honest smile on his face.

Mario looks at him like he’s a live-giving sun and all Marco can think is how truly, utterly and god-forsakenly doomed he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise is a flimsy excuse to write unscrupulous stuff. Don't complain, I've already complained to myself enough about it.
> 
> If this fic was in German I would have addressed the issue of 'boyfriend' and 'friend' being the same word in German but alas, it's not. Which makes it way less complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

Marco hides in the bathroom. The bathroom in _his_ house, mind you, because apparently a short holiday away from home due to an injury-related absence from training is just what Mario wants to do with his boyfriend.

 _Boyfriend._ Marco bites the back of his hand to calm down.

The thing is, it doesn’t feel weird mostly. Mario and he just hang out like they sometimes do when they have time – they watch tv, play video games, eat trash food and gossip about their friends.  
But every now and then, Mario calls him ‘babe’ and the touches linger on his arm or thigh and that’s when reality gets Marco in a headlock again.

Thankfully, Mario hasn’t tried to kiss him yet but Marco also sort of wonders what that says about their imaginary relationship because it makes him feel like a shitty boyfriend. Which shouldn’t be a problem because while he might be shitty, he is not a boyfriend but Marco thinks Mario deserves better.

Mario calls for him so he quickly checks the mirror, tugs his hair into order and braces himself.

Mario is hanging across the couch upside down, his head already flushed from the blood flowing the wrong direction.  
“I need your help deciding on hashtags,” Mario says and waves with his phone, “I’ve got _#getwellsoon #partofgoetze_ but I want to add something else about you. _#marcorules_. _#marcoroyal? #nursemarco_?”

Marco grabs the phone and looks at the screen. It’s an awkward yet cute selfie that features half of Mario’s and an eighth of Marco’s face.  
He can’t remember when Mario took the photo but it must have been while they were watching recorded episodes of Germany’s Next Top Model.  
The text below the photo says ‘time out holiday _#getwellsoon #partofgoetze_ ’ and Marco just adds _#echteliebe_ before Mario can come up with the idea of using _#marcoismyboyfriend_ or _#queerformarcodear_.

“Aw, thanks!” Mario coos when he reads over what Marco posted and it’s good to see him return to a normal sitting position since his face has already taken on a dangerously dark red. Mario jumps up from the couch and staggers slightly – probably due to his gymnastic exercises but Marco instantly thinks about the injury and hurries to prop him up.

Mario rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips are curling up and he leans forward with a dreamy look on his face. Marco realises too late where this is going so he just freezes when their lips meet.

Mario starts moving his mouth, probably in an attempt to put a spark into this rather stale kiss. Marco, however, has his eyes wide open, skin itching all over and he doesn’t know where to put his hands.

He kisses back tentatively (for Mario’s sake, he tries to convince himself) and while it feels freakily _right_ , Marco can’t imagine what will happen if Mario still remembers this when he regains his real memories.

For now, Mario is happily oblivious and apparently not too disappointed by Marco’s kissing skills.

The kiss turns into a heated kiss turns into Mario digging his fingers into Marco’s back and Marco has to ground himself by repeating _this is not real_ in his head.  
Before Mario can try anything else that might be implied by the words _boyfriend_ , _relationship_ and _babe_ , the door bell rings.

Mario groans a little in annoyance, breaks away from Marco and slumps down on the couch again, fixing his hair.  
Marco himself isn’t sure yet whether he’s relieved or upset, so he just shrugs apologetically and answers the door.

Outside, Mats is standing, waving with a sheet of paper.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite number 15.” Marco says with a deadpan voice and doesn’t open the door any wider than is necessary to talk to Mats.

“I’ve got the approval for your absence from training while playing nurse for Mr Götze, Sergeant 11.” Mats says, does a mock salute and shoves the paper into Marco’s face.

“And you couldn’t just have texted me about it?”

“Aaaah, let me think... no.” Mats eyes Marco but it must be paranoia to think he could possibly see Marco’s reddened lips.

“Stop playing games and let us in!” someone else cuts in. _André_ pops up behind Mats and cranes his neck to get a look at whatever he’s expecting to go on behind Marco, in the house.

Marco frowns, looks at Mats, then at André, then at Mats again – and then he slams the door in their faces.  
“What the fuck?” he can hear Mats say on the other side and Marco is thinking the exact same thing because shouldn’t André be in England or London or whatever right now?

“Who is it?” Mario calls from the living room and right, he was still there, too, how could Marco forget.

Marco replies, “Mats and André” and instead of waiting for Mario to question it, he opens the door again and begrudgingly lets the two of them in.

While André and Mario hug it out, Marco draws Mats aside.

“How did you manage to make André show up here? Are you trying to embarrass me – Mario – us?”

Mats holds up his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Why do you always think it’s my fault? I didn’t invite him. He’s in Germany for a holiday anyway and he texted me about meeting up. What was I supposed to say? Marco is in a relationship crisis with his no-homo bro?”

Marco groans and shakes his head before shoving Mats back into the living room where André and Mario are already lounging on the couch together. Mario shoots Marco a lewd look as if to say ‘We’ll continue what we started later on’ and Marco’s heart skips a beat.

Mats is unusually quiet for the rest of the evening, only occasionally nods, laughs or says ‘yeah’ while he’s engrossed in typing and reading something on his phone with a sly smile.  
André however, is livelier and chattier than one should expect after a flight and basically the life of the party, if this was one.  
He’s sympathetic about Mario’s injury, appropriately so, not like all the fans who tried to send bras as some sort of get-well presents.  
Even when Mario asks Marco to ‘get something to drink, honey’ and Marco exaggeratedly laughs it off, André smiles without batting an eyelid.

When Marco comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of Coke, André has his hand on Mario’s thigh.  
André’s not moving it, it’s just lying there, innocently but it still pisses Marco off.

He wonders whether it would be cheating if Mario got it on with André, since there’s nobody he’d be cheating on, strictly speaking, but it only conjures up images of André and Mario making out, probably in jerseys because that’s hot – and it makes Marco unwittingly clench his fists in anger.

“I think it’s pretty late already and Mario probably should get a good night’s sleep now.” he says firmly, recalling the doctor’s words.

Marco feels bad about kicking their friends out so unceremoniously but Mats doesn’t even look up from his phone when he leaves the house and André still smiles when he pats Marco’s back.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” he says in a low voice, “but if he calls you pet names and you deny it, then something might be wrong. Send me a postcard if you figure it out. Mario deserves it. And so do you.”

It leaves Marco wondering what exactly Mario and he deserve, except maybe the award for worst couple ever?

Marco closes the door behind André and returns to the living room to pick up the bottles and dishes lying around. He can hear something clatter in the bathroom so he figures Mario is brushing his teeth and goes to change his clothes in the bedroom, trying not to overthink the whole situation. _A good night’s sleep_ , that’s what the doctor said.

Marco’s folding his clothes, when he hears the door behind him close and turns around.

Mario is standing next to the bed, slightly grinning, wearing nothing but black boxer shorts and Marco’s Dortmund shirt. He’s sort of shyly tugging the black, shiny stud in his earlobe and it makes his muscles jut out beneath the shirt. Damn.

There is no way to deny it – it’s arousing.

Marco’s jaw drops but he’s quick to close his mouth again and look at a spot of the wall that makes him feel less feverish. It works, but only a little.

“Are you expecting any other visitors today?” Mario says and manages to make it sound dirty, god knows how.

Marco chokes and shakes his head, while he tries to think of anything to stop his growing hard-on. Mold. Half-melted butter. Jogi Löw. Losing against Schalke.  
But no, Mario’s appeal is stronger than the ickiest, crustiest kind of mold on old butter held up by Löw in a Schalke shirt ever could be.

Marco swallows although his throat his dry, and takes a step back. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and it’s Mario who gives him the last push so he ends up lying on the sheets.

“What’s up, Marco?” Mario asks in a low voice while climbing on top of Marco so he has one leg on either side. “You lost your tongue over me wearing your shirt? You like it?”

Mario tugs at the hem of the shirt and teasingly lifts it up a little to show a strip of smooth skin underneath.

Marco stares at Mario’s abs likes they’re the gates of hell. His mind is blank, the pumping of his own heart roars in his ears, his guts are twisted. He has dreamed of this before, thought of details while working himself up to climax in the shower but this –

It’s a cheap straight-to-video imitation of his fantasy and all because it isn’t Mario, it isn’t him when he can’t say whether this is what he truly wants.

Mario is kissing his way from Marco’s ear to his shoulders and Marco groans. Why do right things happen for all the wrong reasons? Why do they happen to him?

“Stop.” Marco says and repeats it again, louder.

Mario looks up, cheeks red, hair mussed and the movement makes their groins rub together like the world hates Marco.

“What’s wrong?” Mario asks and rolls down from Marco immediately. Bless his soul.

Marco cringes and stares at his hands to avoid looking elsewhere. “We... probably shouldn’t.”

Mario’s face falls and Marco almost wants to arrest himself for causing that to happen.  
“For now! I mean, with your injury and everything... just for now!” Marco backtracks and is happy to see Mario nod slowly and lie down on one side of the bed.

“Okay. You’re probably right.” Mario agrees although he doesn’t know the truth like Marco does and drags Marco down for another, calm and short kiss.

It’s mostly relief, what Marco feels but also anger and disappointment about this fucked up situation. He walks to the door to switch of the lights and gets into bed, still feeling Mario on his lips. He can’t quite place the taste, it’s sweet and impossibly familiar.

In the dark, Marco can hear Mario breathing and it’s so lulling to count the breaths that Marco almost violently jerks awake when Mario sneaks his arm around Marco’s shoulder and chest. Marco can now feel every single breath against his back and the puffs of air make the hair in his neck stand up.

“You really like André, huh?” Marco asks, although it’s probably a bad question to ask your sort-of boyfriend who was willing to have sex in a shirt of a club that wasn’t his anymore.

Mario chuckles and the vibrations travel through his body to Marco’s.  
“Jealous?” he says softly and strokes through Marco’s hair.

Marco doesn’t dare to move, careful like a kid who doesn’t want to scare the new deer friend they found in the woods.

“No.” he responds stubbornly and decides that that's a win for him because Mario chuckles again and holds him tighter.

They fall asleep spooning and it feels weird to Marco, mostly because it _doesn’t_ feel weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has started again and as I feared, I have way less time to update and way more other stuff to concentrate on. I appreciate everyone who decides to stick around and motivate me with kind words <3
> 
> 'Echte Liebe' means 'true love' in English and it's also Borussia Dortmund's motto.
> 
> P.S. Get well soon, Marco!


	3. Chapter 3

Marco wakes up on his own accord, no alarm clock needed, but he squints and decides it’s too early to bother with, uh, basically anything. He draws the sheets over his chest again and curls up underneath them but for some reason, he can’t get comfortable again.

He tries to fall asleep but there’s an itching across his back that Marco could best describe as a feeling of absence even though that hardly makes any sense.

Marco is writhing when his arm hits a piece of cloth that’s weirdly smooth and Marco lifts it up to look at it.

It’s yellow and black but he has to hold it close to his sleepy eyes to figure out that it’s his football jersey. Huh.  
It takes Marco a moment before he can make a connection between the shirt, yesterday and – _Mario_.

Suddenly, he’s wide awake, struggling to free himself from the tangled blanket, and pats the empty sheet where they fell asleep last night. Looking around, there is no trace of Mario and that already alarms Marco a lot so he jumps out of bed and hurries through all rooms, calling out Mario’s name with growing worry.

Nobody answers, nobody shows up.

Marco is close to running out on the street to ask passers-by whether they’ve seen a hot guy, about this tall and yes, somewhat looking like that football player , but he doesn’t because he finds a slip of paper on the kitchen table.

It’s torn from the note Mats left behind yesterday and the writing on it is shaky with some words crossed out or scrawled over.

 _sorry_ , it says, ~~i _didn’t_~~ _i regret falling in love. ~~it’s not your f~~_

Marco reads it three times before crumpling the piece of paper up and aiming for the bin.

It’s painfully obvious what had happened.  
A good night’s sleep _,_ the doctor had said, and as soon as Mario was himself again, he was gone, probably seriously disgusted by Marco taking advantage of the situation.

Marco is somewhat disgusted by himself for letting Mario kiss him and letting himself enjoy it.

He starts pacing the floor and rubs his eyes, shivering although it’s not cold.

 _Fuck_ , Marco is desperate to explain himself and the fact that he has _medicine_ on his side with this one. He can’t let Mario think that he’d risk their friendship for the chance to bone him.

So Marco calls Mario and while listening to the stubborn bleeps, he recalls the words on the note.

 _It’s not your f-?_ Marco repeats to himself and wonders what Mario wanted to write.

It’s not your fault? Not your football match? Not your fish? Not your fucking scene, it’s a goddamn arms race?

Marco tries not to think about the part with the ‘regret’ too much because every single letter of the word adds a sting of pain in his chest.

After an eternity, the answering machine plays the recorded message. Marco tries again but Mario still doesn’t take the call.

Marco wipes his sweaty palms on his shirt and calls Philipp next but he doesn’t answer either since they’re probably in training right now.

Growing more and more desperate, Marco opens his laptop and pulls up the phone number of the hospital. He wastes twenty minutes explaining to nurses that this isn’t a prank call until he gets the doctor on the other end of the line.

“Mr Götze is doing perfectly well again," she says, “as I said, sometimes it’s just a lever in the brain that-“

Marco interrupts her, speaking a little too loud and a little too fast. “He was there? For a check-up? This morning?”

“Yes, he said he remembered everything correctly now and just wanted to get a medical perspective on that. Of course, such an injury isn’t nothing but Mr Götze was fine. He laughed about him calling you his boyfriend." the doctor explains patiently but firmly like she has better things to do than talk about this.

“He laughed? Did he seem... angry at all?” Marco asks because he has to know.

“He was fine, if still a little uneasy but I guess that’s understandable. Mr Reus, unless there are any medical concerns, I need to end this call. I have patients waiting.”

“Right. Thanks. Bye.” Marco mumbles and thoughtfully stares at his phone.  
It’s just a hunch but he opens Mario’s instagram and, as expected, Mario deleted the photo that he had taken yesterday and posted with the hashtag #echteliebe.  
Newly posted though, is a picture that shows Mario against some non-descript background of trees. The caption reads _Thank you for all your nice words! I’m ready to play again! #partofgoetze._

 _Echte Liebe_ my ass, Marco thinks and sends Mario more than twenty desperate texts, tone ranging from _it doesn’t have to mean anything_ to _i would even marry you if you asked me to._

An hour later (Marco spends five minutes getting dressed and fifty-five minutes nervously tapping his index finger on the kitchen table), Mario hasn’t answered any of the texts and Marco’s phone dies on him.

Marco plugs in the phone to charge. He feels giddy, unconcentrated and his heart sinks in prospect of never being able to be friends with Mario again.

He starts writing another text but deletes it after having written three chunky paragraphs with correct capitalisation. Marco has the feeling that sending it might just make things worse.

He bangs down his head on the table and groans. He definitely needs help, Marco decides and scrolls down his contact list until he finds ‘ _give this number to GQ if they ask_ ’.

Mats takes his time answering but Marco is stubborn and despaired so he holds on until there’s a click on the line and he can hear low laughter and rustling.

“What d’you want?” Mats asks hoarsely, out of breath.

Marco is ashamed to say that he sobs into the phone.  
“Mario’s gone. He remembered I’m not his boyfriend and now he doesn’t even answer my calls. He hates me.”

Mats groans, there’s more rustling.  
“It’s Marco. He’s got trouble with Mario.” he explains, not to Marco but apparently to whoever is on the other end of the line with him.  
Marco can hear muttering as that other person replies and wishes Mats would just listen to him. But instead Mats keeps talking away from the phone.

“Yeah, I’ve got to do this right now. ...We can continue later- Why?... come on, don’t-“ Mats giggles and there’s more rustling and suppressed moans and Marco gets _some_ kind of clue about what Mats and his unknown friend are doing.

“Mats, I need your help. Or at least I need to see your face so I can feel better about mine. I will drive to your house now and you better not be screwing some girl when I knock on your door.” Marco shouts into the phone and leaves it charging in his bedroom.

On his way to Mats’ house, he regrets not taking it with him because his fingers are itching to check for new messages or any kind of acknowledgment that Mario and he still exist in the same universe.  
A universe where they’re not dating and never have been, he reminds himself. A universe where he can forget Mario’s kisses, where he didn’t wake up missing Mario because he never fell asleep with Mario in the first place.

Way to ruin a good friendship, Marco congratulates himself cynically.

When he arrives at Mats’ house, a figure in a hoodie squeezes past him.

The person mumbles ‘Hey, Marco’, gives a wave and keeps walking. Marco does a double- or maybe triple-take and recognizes Benni slumping away and ducking into a side street. _What._

Still looking after Benni, Marco rings the door bell and Mats opens – wearing nothing but a towel.

Marco shields his eyes and turns away exaggeratedly. “Put some clothes on, for god’s sake. What if I was someone else and you nakedly opened the door for Kloppo! Or a yellow press reporter! Or your _mother_!”

Mats just laughs and shoves Marco into the house. “My mom knows I have sex.”

Marco squints and asks slowly, “With Benni?”

Mats halts for the fraction of a second before pulling over a shirt that he grabs from the floor and shrugging.  
“Point taken. She probably doesn’t know that.”

Marco keeps staring at Mats with a blank expression.

“What?” Mats asks, frowning.

For a moment, Marco forgets about Mario and all his problems. “You never freaking told me!”

Mats stops him with a wave of his hand. “Uh, whatever, okay. I have sex with Benedikt Höwedes sometimes. Fine?”

Marco is flabberghasted. “No?!”

“Calm down, Marco. It’s not like you’re one to judge.”

Marco opens his mouth to object but Mats – who has managed to pull together a complete outfit and hangs the towel over a chair – doesn’t let him.

“Don’t even try,” he says, rolling his eyes, “you’re the one who is star-crossed in love.”

Marco rubs his eyes and sighs. “Mario remembers everything and so he left. That’s the whole story.”

Mats hands him a cup of hot tea that he procures out of basically nowhere.

“And by ‘everything’, you mean... ?” Mats trails off with one eyebrow raised.

“We kissed like three times and then Mario tried to go for more but I just- it was nice. Obviously. I just couldn’t. Not when he thought I was someone I wasn’t.”

Mats sort of snorts. “So you’re not his best friend, you didn’t come rushing to get him from the hospital and you don’t absolutely love each other, platonically or not?”

Marco splutters to explain himself. “That’s not – he was – I can’t – he couldn’t consent!”

Mats shakes his head like he feels sorry for Marco and his sad life. “I’m not talking about the sex that didn’t happen anymore. Take a hint, boy.”

“I – I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

“Well... just because it’s _cold_ , doesn’t mean that it’s _winter_.”

Marco gapes incredulously. “What the hell? Was that today’s quote on your tear-off calendar?”

“Nah, it’s from Benni’s daily text service with motivational sayings but it doesn’t matter. I’m not a doctor but even I can google ‘false memories’ and at the end of the day, you should consider talking to Mario about it, not me.”

Marco’s hand unconsciously slips into his pocket to grab his phone before he remembers that he left it at home. “I can’t talk to him. He doesn’t answer my calls _or_ texts.”

“And you think it’s because he hates you for enduring his kisses when you were told by a doctor to do exactly that?”

Instead of answering, Marco takes a huge gulp of tea and slams the mug down on the table afterwards.

“Marco, if you were hit and claimed that Mario was your boyfriend and he played along, would you think Mario should feel weird?” Mats asks and sighs. “Or would you think _you_ ’re weird because _your_ brain came up with that?”

Marco kicks the kitchen table leg in frustration and glares as threateningly as he can. Mats acts like this whole thing makes sense to him which is not fair because he wasn’t even there for any of – except yesterday evening, glued to his phone.

“I’m just saying,” Mats continues because he has no sense of self-preservation in the light of Marco beating him up, “I’m saying, memories are coming from somewhere, false or not, and you can drown in self-pity and leave me alone or you can drive to see Mario and leave me alone. So win-win for me.”

Marco processes what Mats said for a moment and decides that maybe, just maybe, Mats is not as stupid as he looks but he still says “Fuck you” instead of goodbye. Mats just laughs and flips him off.

Marco considers driving back home to get and check his phone before surprising Mario but it does seem a little pointless so he builds up courage like a man and leaves straight for Mario’s house. Like a man.

While driving, it starts to rain and the dark grey sky matches Marco’s personal prospects.  
Marco parks the car a few blocks away from Mario’s house, heart beating faster and faster, and he reaches the right house in wet clothes.

He rings the door bell and as the rain keeps pouring down, Marco gets the thought that this is all very The-Notebook-y and immediately makes sure that in that fantasy he casts himself as Ryan Gosling, thank you very much.

Mario opens the door, looking pale and exhausted, and he eyes Marco in his rain-soaked jacket.  
He drags the back of his hand across his face.

“I already said I’m sorry. I get that you think it’s weird or icky or whatever. I’m sorry you had to kiss me. I’m sorry that all it took was me getting hit during a match. I’m sorry but I can’t change it. I’m feeling what I’m feeling.”

Mario is about to close the door again, obviously not ready for any potential insults or accusations Marco might throw his way but Marco is faster and sticks his foot next to the doorframe.

“Are we breaking up?” Marco asks and he doesn’t even know what rides him to say _that_.

Mario knits his brows and indeed stops trying to force the door to close. “Are you making fun of me, Marco? I remember, okay?! I know we’re not dating. Don’t you think I already hate myself enough?”

And Marco can see in Mario’s eyes just how much he does hate himself so he squeezes past the door and grabs Mario’s hand to hold it tight.

“Do you want this? Us? Together?” Marco asks, managing to hold his voice steady although he dreads to hear the answer.

Mario tries to twist out of the grip and instead of replying, he pointedly avoids looking at Marco.

“Listen to me, Mario, this is probably the most important thing I’ve ever asked you. Do you want this?” Marco tries again, not letting go, although the heat of Mario’s hand feels like it’s burning his skin.

Mario loses it. “Fine, yes! YES, you got me! It’s what I fucking want and it’s what I fucking ruined by getting injured and doing –“

Mario doesn’t shout anything else, mostly because Marco’s lips seal the flood of words.

The kiss is better than any of those they’ve shared before and it doesn’t even matter that the water from Marco’s wet clothes starts dampening Mario’s shirt and both their skin.

“Good,” Marco mumbles against Mario’s mouth, “good, because I want it, too.”

“Since –“ Mario starts but Marco silences him with a kiss.

“Since too long. But fuck me if it takes for you to get hit for me to say ‘I love you.’ I mean, I do. Love you.”

Mario pulls away and Marco is scared for a second that he did something wrong but a grin spreads across his face.

“I know.” Mario says and has a hard time not to break out laughing.

Marco resists the urge to playfully slap him and instead groans.

“Star Wars? So you remember everything?”

“I remember that you owe me sex in a Bayern jersey.” Mario says and gnaws at his lip, like he’s still unsure whether this is too much, too fast.

But Marco is just too ready to peel out of his wet clothes. And send André a postcard, for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally there was a scene in a karaoke bar planned at some point in the story but I can't remember where and it honestly didn't fit anywhere anymore so. Sorry.
> 
> Also check out this [prompt meme](http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html)! I'll be around to try and fill requests probably!
> 
> I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anexactscience)!


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